


fly up to the surface and just start again

by sleeplessmiles



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen, MaySimmons Weekend, post-2x10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:21:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3405434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplessmiles/pseuds/sleeplessmiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which May learns that Jemma's grown uncomfortable with flying over water since her ordeal in the medical pod, and attempts to help her through it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fly up to the surface and just start again

**Author's Note:**

> Written for May & Simmons Weekend on tumblr, for the prompt 'MaySimmons & Flying.'
> 
> Also, as you will soon learn, I know jack all about how planes work. I made up a lot of mechanisms. A LOT.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!

 

In the end, it’s Fitz who alerts May to the issue. 

He doesn’t announce himself when he finds her in the shooting range one morning, only clearing his throat a little from the doorway, but it does the trick anyway. Quickly hiding her surprise at seeing him down there, May turns to give him her full attention and tries to appear as open and approachable as possible. It’s the only way she can think of to counter the clear discomfort written across his face.

‘I just wanted – I thought I should tell you that, um. Jemma’s…’

May waits patiently as he considers his words, ignoring her reflexive twinge of worry.

‘She’s not really comfortable with flying anymore. In the plane. That’s what I think, anyway,’ he hastens to add, brow furrowed. ‘I… we haven’t really – talked.’

But May’s mind is already racing. It’s not hard to believe this is a problem for the girl, and even easier to believe that May’s missed it – she hasn’t flown anywhere with Jemma since before the Bus had been appropriated by Garrett’s men, so she doesn’t really have a reference point.

That doesn’t make it any less troubling, however.

‘She was alright over land, it – it was just – ’ He stops himself then, leveling her with an expression so serious that she can only marvel at the fact that this is _Fitz_ , the same curly-haired boy who’d once proposed a monkey as the solution to all of the world’s problems.

‘I think it’s only an issue over water.’

 _Of course it’s over water_ , May thinks, her heart sinking.

‘This was on the trip to San Juan?’ she asks.

He nods.

‘I’m not – we haven’t talked about it, her and me, so it might have been a one-time… thing. The flight back was…’ he trails off with a shake of his head, at a loss for words. May quickly picks up on what he’s alluding to; the journey back to the Playground had not been easy on anyone, to put it mildly. Jemma probably hadn’t even noticed they were travelling over the ocean.

(When she closes her eyes at night, May can still hear the combined sounds of Skye's sobbing, Fitz's quiet sniffles, and Jemma’s gasping cries; the terrible soundtrack to their grief filtering over the intercom and into the cockpit, where May had been sat alone. It’s a noise she doesn't think she'll ever forget. She isn’t sure she’ll ever be able to pilot the Bus again without hearing their pain bleeding from the very walls.)

She swallows, regarding him critically.

‘And you don’t have the same problem?’

It’s probably a pointless question to ask of Leopold Fitz, this boy genius who point-blank refuses to be considered anything less than courageous. Who shies away from even the slightest suggestion of cowardice, wanting to put as much distance as possible between himself and such labels.

But he surprises her, replying not with a vehement denial but with a shrug and a dark, clouded expression.

‘What’s it going to take from me that it hasn’t already?’

Stomach falling, May quickly searches his face for any indication that he’s telling less than the whole truth.

She finds none.

‘I’ll look into it,’ she promises. 

Fitz only nods rapidly in response, the slight drooping of his shoulders betraying his relief. He brings his hands up to rest on his waist, and despite what he’s just told her, despite his devastating comment, May finds herself fighting down a smile at the familiar pose. It’s just been so long since she’s seen it.

But then the moment fades, and she’s left with nothing but the stark reality again – two broken kids, trying as best they can to recover what the ocean took from them.

She almost sighs. One at a time, Melinda.

First up: Jemma.

 

-

-

 

‘Agent Simmons,’ May calls out determinedly, leaning around the doorway of the mess hall. Jemma is perched against the counter with a cup of tea, murmuring quietly to Hunter, but her head snaps up at the sound of May’s voice. Even from across the room, May can see how she’s instantly on high alert; she’s all tension and hard lines, as though she’s bracing herself to receive bad news. 

‘With me,’ May elaborates, tone just a touch softer, and she watches as the girl relaxes ever so slightly.

‘Oh, look out. That’s her Mum voice,’ Hunter says, voice carrying easily over to where May’s waiting. Jemma slaps half-heartedly at his arm, putting her empty mug in the sink.

‘Don’t be silly. It just means that we’re working instead of doing something fun.’

Hunter makes an incredulous face, looking between the women.

‘What on earth would the two of you do for fun?’

‘The less you know,’ May promises darkly. Jemma beams at May as she walks over, pleased, before turning to shoot a look at Hunter over her shoulder. May can’t see the expression she’s giving him, but judging purely by his reaction, it’s Jemma’s usual brand of smug gloating that she reserves solely for the ex-mercenary.

When the two women stride from the room seconds later, shoulder-to-shoulder, Hunter’s still spluttering in the background. May stifles the smallest of grins.

 

-

-

 

They make it all the way to the ramp of the quinjet before Jemma’s steps begin to falter. May had been hoping they’d be on the actual aircraft before this happened, but then, this _is_ Jemma Simmons. She’s nothing if not sharp.

‘Are we… do we have a mission?’ she asks, voice carefully controlled, and okay, yeah. May sees it now. Quite apart from the crash course in self-defense May had given Jemma before the girl’s undercover stint, she’d also spent a lot of time teaching her to be wary of how she holds herself. Jemma’s always worn her stress and anxiety physically, and May had worried about how quickly she’d give herself away at Hydra, betrayed by her own body language. It had taken substantial work to help her break her old habits, prompting her to be more mindful of every part of her.

Now, she’s coiled about as tightly as May’s everseen her – shoulders stiffened, knees slightly bent, mouth twisted into a grimace. The fact that her tension is so visible here, despite her newfound control, speaks to astronomical levels of discomfort.

‘Of sorts,’ is all May provides. Jemma wrings her hands a little, still impossibly tense.

May inclines her head towards the jet, gently indicating that Jemma should follow. She knows she has to be careful here; as much as Fitz will do almost anything to prove he’s unafraid, so too will Jemma follow the ones she respects and trusts just about anywhere. The last thing May wants to do is push Jemma beyond where she feels safe, especially when she’s already so on edge.

So May takes it slowly. She slowly closes the ramp behind them, slowly takes her seat and waits for Jemma to do the same. She slowly fires up the jet, and she slowly goes to open the doors of the hangar. There’s ample time for Jemma to protest, and yet she remains silent and obliging throughout it all. It seems that Fitz was right, May notes to herself. She certainly doesn’t seem to have an issue with the idea of flying itself.

It’s when she sees the flight plan that May’s programming into the jet’s navigation system – the flight plan that very much takes them over a body of water – that Jemma finally interjects.

‘I have to confess, I’m not entirely…’ she trails off, pursing her lips and frowning a little as she tries to work out how to convey it best. Eventually she just glances back up at May, face pleading.

‘Is it the water?’ May asks. Jemma looks back at her, her eyes wide and almost startled.

‘I’m mostly alright with water, actually. At least, I think so?’ She exhales, making a little frustrated noise. ‘It’s just flying over it that seems to be getting to me.’

May regards her shrewdly, seeing more than Jemma’s probably comfortable with.

‘Because of the pod,’ she confirms, keeping her voice gentle. Jemma casts her gaze downwards by way of answer, almost as though she’s ashamed, and May feels something clench in her chest.

She shouldn’t have to feel this way. She shouldn’t have to feel that something that _happened_ to her, something completely out of her control that left its indelible mark on her, is a thing to be ashamed about.

She shouldn’t have to feel weak. Not when, in reality, she’s anything but.

May purses her lips, decided. She won’t push this. 

‘We’ll adjust our course.’

But Jemma’s expression morphs into one of horror, her mouth forming a neat little ‘o’ shape as she watches May change the flight plan.

‘Oh, no!’ she exclaims. ‘I wouldn’t want to negatively impact upon the parameters of the mission, and even if I were the cause – ’

‘ _Jemma_ ,’ May borderline growls, the only thing capable of cutting off one of the girl’s tangents. She instantly falls silent, looking across guiltily.

‘I just don’t want it to affect anyone else,’ she confesses, voice small.

 _What about how it affects you?_ May wants to ask. And she knows she, herself, is hardly one to talk, but Jemma’s got to start putting her own wellbeing first every once in a while.

Perhaps May can help that.

She reaches up to flick a few switches, commencing the take-off procedure, before glancing quickly at Jemma.

‘Do you trust me?’

‘Of course,’ she answers, not missing a beat. Her voice is almost offended, which makes the corners of May’s mouth twitch upwards. She finally puts the quinjet into flight mode, seamlessly lifting off, and when she catches a glimpse of Jemma’s calm face, she decides nothing is more important today than proving that the girl's trust has not been misplaced.

 

-

-

 

It’s nice, May decides once they’ve reached a good cruising altitude – just the two of them flying up here, not headed anywhere in particular. Jemma’s always been great company in the cockpit. All three of the kids had been, really, almost instinctively understanding the small room to be sacrosanct and treating it as such, but Jemma had always been particularly. For all her nervous rambling, no one did companionable silence quite like Jemma Simmons, and May had found herself looking forward to easing into the new day in her presence.

Sometimes, on days when May had been feeling more restless, she’d explained the various components of the plane out loud, her young companion quietly drinking it all in with her wide-eyed, sharp gaze. At the time, May had thought it was of some comfort to the girl, no matter how small – as their situation spiralled ever more rapidly out of their control, this was a thing over which Jemma could still have power.

And, just like that, May knows exactly what to do.

‘Do you remember how any of this functions?’ she asks nonchalantly, indicating the controls on the dashboard.

It’s bait. It’s blatant baiting, and she knows that as much as Jemma is aware of that fact, the girl will rise to the occasion anyway. It’s familiar ground, and familiar is exactly what she needs right now, so May’s certain she’ll grab onto this like a lifebuoy. 

As always, Jemma doesn’t disappoint – she’s immediately indignant, eyes fiery and alert, and May has to concentrate in order to quash the smile that threatens to break out across her face.

‘I do, as a matter of fact. I’d even go so far as to say I remember all of it, actually, except that I’ve noticed a few discrepancies between the controls of this aircraft and those of the Bus. I wouldn’t be entirely confident in explaining their usage.’ She preens a little once she finishes, satisfied in her own knowledge.

That’s all there is to it. Jemma trusts her brain. She trusts facts, trusts them to empower her.

May can do facts. 

Flicking a couple of overhead switches, she sets the plane to autopilot before pointing to a large button.

‘Do you know what this does?’ 

Jemma narrows her eyes at it for what is an impressively long time, since May knows damn well she’s never seen it before in her life, before eventually slumping her shoulders in disappointment. She shakes her head no.

‘It’s the emergency eject button,’ May provides, keeping her voice level. Informative. Instructive. Jemma’s eyes widen, so May swiftly continues. ‘If you press it, your seat will be ejected from the aircraft. There’s a parachute attached.’

Jemma says nothing to that, so May moves her attention onto the next built-in safety mechanism.

‘This?’ Still no answer; only a steady, wide-eyed stare. ‘This is the emergency release. You pull it, like this,’ she mimes the pull-and-twist motion, ‘and it’ll release the windshield of the jet. If those fail, there’s a manual release button under each of the panels. They do the same thing.’ 

Casting a quick glance over at the passenger seat, May can tell that Jemma’s finally catching on. She can see what May’s doing, and yet she still remains silent.

‘You’ve got the ramp and the hatch, which both have a manual release in the event of a power outage.’ She hesitates, deciding, before bringing out the big guns. ‘In the Battle of New York?’

Jemma furrows her brow slightly, curiosity piqued.

‘Captain Rogers was in a quinjet with Agents Barton and Romanoff when they were shot out of the sky. They crashed, but they still escaped unharmed.’

And Jemma’s smiling now, but it’s not the bright smile of the girl she used to be, nor is it the pained smile that adorns her features too often nowadays. No. This is bitter, self-deprecating. May’s suddenly unsure of how to proceed.

‘I hardly think I’ve got the skill to accomplish what any of them would, May,’ she says, a sour twist to her mouth. ‘They’re _Avengers_.’

But May just shakes her head – once, twice.

‘It wasn’t skill that saved them,’ she insists, making sure she has Jemma’s full attention.

(She does.)

‘It was knowledge.’

Jemma’s eyes soften, realisation dawning.

‘And now, you have that knowledge too,’ she finishes simply.

For the longest moment, Jemma simply holds May’s eye contact, eyes wide and so, _so_ full of tense exhaustion, but there’s something else there now. Something more.

It’s gratitude, May realises with no small measure of relief. She’s _grateful._

Eventually, Jemma pulls her gaze away, only to drag it briefly over the safety mechanisms mentioned before. She’s studying them as she would an unknown specimen, committing them to memory, and it’s clear that she’s finally feeling some semblance of control.

‘You won’t ever be trapped,’ May promises, voice quiet and filled with certainty.

Jemma stares out the window of the jet for the longest time then, aimlessly watching the clouds as they zoom past, before she finally sits up a little straighter in her seat. 

‘Can we…’ she takes a calming breath, tries again. ‘Do you think we might be able to fly over a body of water now?’

When she looks across at May, eagerly awaiting an answer, there’s a lot more life in her eyes than May’s seen in a long time. But what really strikes her is the faint spark of mischief in the back of Jemma's gaze, the tiniest hint of playfulness.

It’s not much, but May will take what she can get. She smirks.

‘Better hold on,’ she warns, pressing a couple of buttons and relishing in the surprised look on Jemma's face before pulling the jet into a sharp turn. Jemma shrieks in delight.

(The next time May closes her eyes at night, she’ll still be haunted by the gutwrenching sobs of her young charges from that day. That won't ever go away. But this time, she’ll also be hearing the thrilled, uninhibited laugh of a newly freed Jemma Simmons, twisting and turning with the motions of quinjet as she began to overcome her fear and forgot, even if only for an instant, how terrible things have been lately.

And that’s more than enough. For Melinda May, that's more than enough.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Us Against the World' by Coldplay.
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


End file.
